


Three Sentence Ficlets (Shakespeare)

by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, King Lear - Shakespeare, Macbeth - Shakespeare, Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, 3 Sentence Fiction, Backstory, Blank Verse, Character Study, Child Death, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drabble, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Iambic Pentameter, Politics, Prompt Fic, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiny ficlets written for various iterations of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by rthstewart and caramelsilver. <b>1)</b> Regan and Goneril loved their sister, once. <b>2)</b> Lady Macbeth has no children. <b>3)</b> Gertrude finds her land a king. <b>4)</b> Iago meets the Scottish queen in Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loving-kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/gifts), [Heliopause](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliopause/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 2/9/15 for [betony](http://betony.dreamwidth.org) in response to the prompt: _[King Lear, Goneril, Regan, (& Cordelia), they loved their sister once](http://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/119267.html?thread=3666915#cmt3666915)_.

Cordelia was always their father's favorite, always his precious, cossetted pet, born late and unexpected and loved though she was not the hoped-for son, though she stole their mother with her birth and brought grief as her cradle-song. And yet, she was their sister, their living doll, their secret-keeper: the sweet-natured child who followed them with stars in her eyes and thought they hung the moon; of course they came to love her in their turn.

Perhaps if they had not all loved her so, Regan reflects as their father rages, perhaps if they had let the indifferent cruelty of the world touch her life, she would have learned to do what was necessary rather than dash herself to ruin on the unforgiving cliff of her ideals.


	2. Such a heart in my bosom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 3/8/15 for [heliopausa](http://heliopausa.dreamwidth.org) in response to the prompt: _[Shakespeare's Macbeth, Lady Macbeth/Macbeth, "I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe who milks me" vs "he has no children"](http://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/119267.html?thread=4531171#cmt4531171)_.

**LADY MACBETH**  
Thrice now my womb hath quicken'd, and in time  
Brought forth with much travail a tiny babe  
That squall'd, and suck'd, and rested in my arms  
As trusting as a lamb; with eyes milk blue  
As if a piece of heav'n had come to earth  
And stitch'd me new, the gnawing of my heart  
For once made still, as seas after a storm  
seem limpid clear, deceptive in their calm.

**MACBETH**  
Yet none survive.

**LADY MACBETH**  
And so I count me bless'd  
That cough and pox and hunger stole them home  
Ere I could name them, for tenderness is false  
And foreign to my nature, which delights  
To strive ever beyond this womanish heart  
That lingers in the hope and fear of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am never writing iambic pentameter again, argh!


	3. Is that what you really want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 3/9/15 for betony in response to the prompt: _[Hamlet, Gertrude, that gun is loaded/but it's not in my hand](http://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/119267.html?thread=3666403#cmt3666403)_.

Her husband is dead, her son lost in grief and unready to face the world, and Denmark cannot stand divided and unruled. Gertrude will not see her kingdom fall, and Claudius, despite the faults that earned him mock and scorn, has eyes to see, a mind to know, and a will to choose and hold his course; for all that he made jest in turn, her husband stilled his laugh and listened when his brother spoke; and she knows he will not think marriage to her a burden.

Gertrude finds her land a king, and does not count the cost.


	4. When in Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 12/6/17 (and revised 12/16/17) for [lizzie_marie_23](https://lizzie_marie_23.livejournal.com), in response to the prompt: [Othello/Macbeth, Iago & or / Lady Macbeth, "I'll fleece him presently"](https://caramelsilver.livejournal.com/151620.html?thread=5875012#t5875012).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time periods of these plays do not match up AT ALL, but what the heck, let's pretend! :) Double fill, and also a triple drabble, just because.

The Scottish queen has some sin on her soul, as is true for most who hold power; Iago would not care but that some pang of conscience (or the need to mask herself with piety) drives her to bestow gold upon Venice's war with the Turk, through the medium of his general, come south to Rome to bargain with the Pope for peace on land so that Venice may focus on the islands and the sea.

He pours his own share into Othello's hands, save one gold coin -- "In recompense to my Emilia, for her lost chance to pray before Peter's throne," he says in answer to the Moor's questioning glance, "but you need courting gifts far more than I, to win fair Desdemona's heart and troth" -- and smiles and shrugs when Othello laughs and warns him not to be _too_ honest lest he destroy his marriage.

"My lord swore loyalty to a weak king who showed him little favor in return," the queen murmurs unexpectedly in Iago's ear as Othello strides away, and he fights down his reflexive reach for his absent sword; "I think you forged of similar alloys, in honor of which truth I remind you that fruitless generosity to careless overlords serves strong men ill betimes."

He is rarely impulsive, nor prone to show his hand, and yet he bends his head to brush his lips against her white hand, the picture of a simple soldier awed and fumbling before a highborn foreign lady, however barbarous and northern her land, and murmurs in return: "I know. And I shall fleece him presently."

"Honest indeed," says the Scottish queen, and though she rubs her knuckles as if to wash away his kiss, she smiles like daggers in the night, one sinner to an equally stained soul.


End file.
